


Lessons

by Measured_Words



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Blasphemy, Breathplay, Canon Backstory, Elves, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Psychic Bond, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-14
Updated: 2011-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-14 18:28:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/pseuds/Measured_Words
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s sleeping in the library, head cradled by some book he shouldn’t be reading.  She watches for a moment before she wakes him, leaning over and planting a kiss on the very tip of his ear.  Sleepy lashes flicker open over eyes the colour of a shallow sea, but he smiles as she kisses him again, climbing in to his lap as he pushes the chair back from the table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons

He’s sleeping in the library, head cradled by some book he shouldn’t be reading. She watches for a moment before she wakes him, leaning over and planting a kiss on the very tip of his ear. Sleepy lashes flicker open over eyes the colour of a shallow sea, but he smiles as she kisses him again, climbing in to his lap as he pushes the chair back from the table.

“You shouldn’t be sleeping in here, Vanwahu,” she murmurs between their embraces, fingers running down his chest to his abdomen. She smiles saucily as his brow furrows and she can feel him closing himself off.

“I asked you not to call me that,” he says, taking her hands. He doesn’t want to stop her, not really, but he thinks it is important.

“It’s just a name, darling.” She leans in to him, so that he has to turn his head to avoid her lips. Instead, she plants a kiss just below the line of his jaw

“It’s not my name.”

“No?” He’s cross enough to resist her, so she doesn’t press things for now, slipping her wrists from his grasp and lacing her fingers with his, and settling in to his lap. “And what is? Amortio? It doesn’t suit you.” She can sense his struggle to control his emotions – they’ve been together enough that their attunement is already renewing itself. “What did the humans call you?”

“Tristan,” he answers after a moment, guarded. She wonders what he senses from her, and the thought makes her smile.

“That’s not your name either, is it? They’re all just words. It does you no good to be so sensitive.” Before he can protest, she shakes her head, stroking the inside of his wrists with her thumbs. “You have such a short life. Don’t waste it sulking.”

“I’m not sulking.” He manages dismissive, rather than defensive, and she can feel his pulse quicken and he reaches up to caress her ear and the side if her neck, sliding long fingers along her hairline. “I was just thinking that you’re right. We shouldn’t be in here.”

“Then we shouldn’t tarry, should we?” She readjusts her self, grinding against him as she lets him pull her close for a kiss. There isn’t much real danger of being discovered at this time of night, and she’s feeling patient. The poor boy is still inclined to rush everything, urgency a by-product of nature and youth, but he has been working on controlling those impulses. For all that, his heart still beats faster, hotter than hers. His lust is raw, intoxicating. It’s easy to respond to.

He knows what she likes – partly from attuning their bodies so many times, and partly by training. For now he slips a hand under the loose fabric of her shirt, placing his palm flat against her back just above her heart, at the chakra. It’s a little bit like cheating, but since his other hand is resting on her thigh as he rubs her sex through her pants, she supposes she’ll allow it. Her arousal, his arousal, it’s hard to keep it straight after awhile, for all that he is a half-breed.

“You’re not in a hurry, are you?” His voice has a breathless hitch to it – he’s getting better at mastering his breathing, but he has a ways to go yet. General opinion is that he is already too old to learn how to be Cozovodë in any of the ways that might matter, but she just sees so much potential that it seems criminal to completely squander it. She smiles dreamily. “That would be a rare treat.”

She could let him fuck her right here, on top of the books, just let him shake all the control she’s be cultivating in him. It would be urgent, wild, and over quickly. She could still bring him upstairs, and, bless his human blood, he’d probably be ready for another round just as she’d need him to be. She entertains the notion briefly before dismissing it. Maybe if he were stronger, but that style of passion would never be to his advantage, and it would serve nothing to indulge it, or even to indulge in it…. Besides which, she enjoyed watching him struggle to control himself as much as she enjoyed his attempts to usurp her dominance. “No, darling,” she mutters, lips brushing soft words against his ear, “but we can’t stay here. So tell me, where would you like to fuck me tonight?”

“Where?”

“Anywhere.”

He’s thinking, considering, and she kisses him. He slides his hand up her thigh – he’s only able to concentrate on so many things at once, but she doesn’t mind terribly. It’s clear he is distracted, and the whole scenario gives her a bit of a rush. When he’s ready, he breaks away from her, or tries, for all she’s seated in his lap. He does take her hand again – he knows that much. “Shrine of Jahrom. Under the chart.”

Delicious blasphemy – she doesn’t even pretend to object, but smiles wickedly. “Then let’s go, darling.” She stands, holding out her arms to entice him to join her

“You can get us in there?” She can sense his wary curiousity, as though he knows it is some kind of trick or test, but can’t quite make sense of it.

“Can’t you?” Her smile deepens as he frowns, then nods slowly. “If you want it…” She slips backwards so that she is only holding the tips of his fingers. “Take it. Take me there.” A tingle of excitement shivers through her core as he rises, and his expression softens somewhat into a guarded smile. He links his fingers though her hand and nods – she wonders if he knows how open he is to her, how despite his efforts she can read him like a book. He doesn’t need words to tell that yes, he can; yes he will, yes he does want her, but they come anyway. She nods, letting him lead her through the maze of temple corridors.

The path they take is winding and, distracted as she is, she’s not sure she could follow it again on her own. They pause before a doorway, and he turns, holding up is hand in some human gesture she understands to mean ‘wait.’ He lets go of her hand to listen, first, and then operate the complicated lock. There’s no key, but the puzzle is fairly complex. She stands close behind him, watching, arms looped around his waist under his shirt, one hand resting above his heart and the other against the flat of his stomach. Her small finger slips beneath his waistband so that when he moves, it grazes the tip of his cock. It takes him a few tries to open the door, struggling to master his control and concentration. The door swings open silently, and he turns in her embrace, cupping her head so that his fingers brush across her ears, and kisses her. She lets him, as though it wouldn’t be easy to just slip away. Instead, she presses herself against him, letting him control their connection and pretend it isn’t a reward. The contact feels good – waves of him pour through her, young, vibrant, and virile. If she could feed off this feeling she would. Her nipples are hard, and she’s wet, almost ready, save that there is still work for her to do. She tilts her head back, though her ears burn for more.

“The chart,” she whispers, letting her voice sound breathless. He nods, pushing his way past the silk curtain beyond, swinging the door almost shut behind him. There is, she notes, no way to access the lock from the inside. The shrine’s main entrance, then, would be the only other exit she knows of, and it is also barred, and guarded.

The power of the place gives them both a different kind of rush, and she grins up at him as they step out from behind a tapestry hanging on the raised dais. Just to their left hangs the chart – an oracular star map predicting major events destined since the departure of the Cozovodë for their new home. It had, apparently, proved accurate for several thousand years, marking the time of major changes if not their specific nature. It was only one of several powerful artifacts housed at the monastery, but likely it was the most valuable, and the most significant. The patterns on it shifted as they stood watching, hands linked.

“Don’t be nervous,” she chides gently. “This was your choice.”

“You…” There is suspicion in the word, and she briefly wonders if she has underestimated him, and he’d picked up on more than she’d expected. He lifts her hands, pressing the backs of them against his cheeks. “You’re nervous too.”

She smiles. “I suppose I am. Our time is growing shorter.”

“I won’t disappoint you.”

“I know.” It's endearing, really. This time when she slips a hand beneath his shirt, it's to help him remove it. He does the same for her, and she leans against his rail-thin frame as he unties the strings of the halter she wears beneath to bind her breasts. They soon stand together, flesh to flesh, losing their selves in the touch of the other. His erection presses hot against her stomach, a burning reminder of the wetness between her legs. His need courses through them both, rushing them towards union as his touch against her skin turns to a grip. But it is still too soon, too fast. Rashena slides her hand up his chest to his throat, stopping his hurried breath. One finger hovered over his pulse – it races dizzyingly for a moment, before she allows him to breathe again.

“Control,” she orders, her own voice calm and quiet. “Don’t just relax – anchor your calm in me.”

She feels his slight nod against her hand, and her spirit senses his frustration – half at her, half at himself – and his struggle to rein it in. He is improving, though. It only takes gentle pressure to remind him of the calming breath patterns, and they reach a metabolic harmony sooner than she expected. It makes coherent thought harder – it distracts them both. And he is so pleasing to be with: the fierceness of his spirit makes up for his lack of physical vigour. They burn brightly together, challenging the stars. The tapestry seems to agree, its patterns wavering chaotically in response to their energy. Perhaps the priests might guess at the disturbance, but right then she couldn’t care.

She waits, even after she is secure in their union, for him to reach for her first. Let him think himself bold for now – she could name it impulsiveness later if it suits her to chide. He slides his hands along her body lightly, as she’s shown him, cupping her cheek and tilting her slender ear towards his lips. He keeps her there without touching for what felt like both forever and no time at all before he grazes his lips, and then his tongue, along the delicate skin. They shiver together, and she can feel him arch into her, his cock straining with entirely human lusts.

If their time wasn’t been limited, she would hold him back. But there would be a patrol soon, or a change in guard, or some late-night penitent, or a million other possible interruptions, even this deep into the shrine’s sanctum. She draws his need inside, the beat of his heart quick despite the meditations, and feels her cunt echoing its pulse in pleasure. She pushes - he draws her - down onto the lacquered tiles of the shrine’s holy floor, and she slides herself down onto his cock.

They stay locked together, reveling in their sense of unity. She squeezes herself around him, drawing him closer, tighter, and feels him gasp. So joined, she can control him better than with any other touch. Mostly, there is no need – or rather, their needs are perfectly attuned. She hisses in air when he does, shudders as he does when she squeezes him inside her, moans softly with him as she began to slide along him, hands linked so he can give her better lift and leverage. Her thoughts and plans dissolve as they give themselves over to their pleasure. Each smaller climax carries them further, as waves building slowly to their crest and ultimately crashing together against the shores of ecstasy.

They lay joined together after they are spent, their attunement still persistent enough that they both speak quietly at the same time: “We should go.” They dress quickly after drawing apart, each with some assistance as they are still somewhat shaky. He takes her hand, and leads her back around to the hidden door where they’d entered the shrine. Rashena lets herself be drawn along, calling her senses back to alertness so she can remember any useful details. The door closes with only the slightest click, and he stopps to reconfigure the complex mechanism. There were parts, she notices as she leans against his shoulder in a show of fatigue, that seem as thought they shouldn’t be able to move as they do, or as though they are part of the wall itself. When he glances down at her, she gives him a lazy, dreamy smile, and presses herself against him. He smiles back, and they turn together down the passage.

As they approach the servant’s complex, she leans him against the wall, granting him a slow, deep, kiss and reaching up to tease the tip of his ear with her fingers. She can still feel his pulse quicken.

“That’s better than sleeping in the library, isn’t it?"

“Much.” He's more tired now, but if he is more careful, he can find some better place to catch some rest.

“I have to go, or I’ll be missed at the dawn meditation.” She kisses him again before slipping away, looking back with a smile. “Just think of a place for next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> [What is Diablotin, you ask?](http://wiki.rocksfall.org/rocksfallwiki/Diablotin_2)
> 
> (Okay you probably don't, but just in case ;)


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